


You Had Me at Organic Kibble

by Writing Cat and Dog (CrowleyGirl)



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Ableism, Baltimore, Cannibalism?, Dog Breeder!Hannibal, Dogs, Foster!Will, Great Pyrenees, Hannigram - Freeform, Humor, Light Swearing, Love, M/M, Romance, Self-Esteem Issues, Stimming, autistic!will, dog shelter au, dog show au, ethical debates, maybe? - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-16 07:50:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11824287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrowleyGirl/pseuds/Writing%20Cat%20and%20Dog
Summary: From a prompt on Tumblr by weconqueratdawnWhat if Hannibal were a champion pedigree dog breeder at a show? Of the most pretentious kind of dog? And Will - who only adopts abandoned mongrels and doesn’t like breeders on principle - is only there to fundraise for his dog shelter? And, idk, their eyes meet over organic kibble or something, and it’s only later Will sees him prancing around the ring with his ridiculous blow-dried dog. Hilarity and romance ensues.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Weconqueratdawn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weconqueratdawn/gifts).



> If you enjoy this story, please kudo and comment because I happy flap every time I get a notification from AO3! And this is written by Dog with some help from Cat.

Will hoped his smile looked natural and not like the smile of a man running on two hours of sleep and pure spite. Even three cups of coffee hadn't improved his mood, and they were the good kind too.  
"I just don't think you can handle the people is all."  
She had said it all nice and sweet, but ever since he told her, she treated him like an incompetent child who couldn't do anything on his own.  
"Can't handle the people, I'll show her..." He muttered under his breath, his smile slipping into a heated glare for half a second. Winston, tucked in his crate beneath the plastic table, whined in agreement.  
Darla Jo, the president of Furry Family Safe House (not the smartest name, but he wasn't about to explain to her why), didn't know jack shit about dogs, but she was rich and willing to spend her money so Will didn't complain. Her money allowed him to give the best to his dogs and for that he was grateful. However, her incompetence as a leader was taxing and her unwillingness to act like an adult grated on his nerves. But with only a part time job as a bartender, Will certainly couldn't afford to run his own dog shelter. If dealing with Darla meant he could do what he loved, he would make it work.  
So that's why he was sitting in an uncomfortable chair at the Baltimore Kennel Club Dog Show talking to five people a minute, being nice to children, and trying to do so much as adopt out one dog without a single volunteer helping him. All of the dog fosters had dropped off their charges and left, leaving him to walk and care for all seven of them while trying not to leave the table alone for too long. It felt like an impossible venture.  
He sighed and propped his head up with his hand. The show hadn't even officially started yet and he was already exhausted by all of the people and the overwhelming noise. He discreetly began to wiggle his fingers under the table, focusing on the sensation of movement and letting it seep into his bones. It calmed him and made the racket easier to tolerate. It seemed all he could do was tolerate lately.  
Just as he got comfortable enough to let his lack of sleep catch up with him, his ears picked up a voice distinctive from the crowd. It was an accent he had never heard before, a thick, rough accent that made him want to hear more.  
"Tu es d'une grande beauté, chien."  
The words came from a man crouching in front of Winston's crate, not sticking his fingers in like most people but simply watching him as he wagged his tail.  
"That French?" Will asked, his voice tired and worn.  
The man looked up, his silver-grey hair falling in front of his warm brown eyes, and gave a polite smile. "Yes. I was simply telling our dog here how beautiful he is."  
Will raised an eyebrow. Most people who attended purebred dog shows would never call a scraggly mutt beautiful and this man certainly didn't seem like the type to appreciate the beauty of mixed breeds. He wore an expensive suit, most likely Italian, and a shiny Rolex adorned his wrist. Rich, pretentious, and...really handsome?  
"He looks very healthy. What diet is he on?" The man asked, jostling Will's thoughts as he stood up and made eye contact with him.  
Will quickly adjusted his gaze to the man's forehead, posing the illusion of meeting his eyes. "Organix, twice a day with additional chicken and rice. It's what all the dogs at the shelter get."  
"And you run this shelter?" The man questioned, glancing at the flier, "Furry Family?"  
Will grimaced, "No, and I certainly didn't name it either. Darla Jo is our president. She's not here though."  
It was the man's turn to arch an eyebrow, "Your president doesn't attend adoptions?"  
"No. She thinks they're beneath her, but don't tell anyone I said that."  
The man chuckled and held out his hand. "We all know someone like that, don't we? I have yet to introduce myself. Hannibal Lecter."  
Will took his hand and shook it gingerly, "Will Graham, and that's Winston down there."  
Hannibal knelt again and let Winston smell his hand, "Hello, Winston. You're very well taken care of, you know that?"  
Winston licked his hand and barked, causing Will to crack a smile for the first time in several days. It was a relief to have someone knowledgeable to talk to.  
"I feed my own dogs Organix." Hannibal went on to say. "Very good brand, plenty of protien. I haven't yet tried the chicken and rice, though I do occasionally cook livers for them."  
Will tilted his head, "Livers? What kind?"  
"Chicken mostly. Whatever is good at the time. You have to be very careful and feed them very sparingly. Too much Vitamin A and all." Hannibal shrugged, "But it's fine, even healthy, for them every now and then."  
Will turned his head towards the speakers attached to the ceiling as they crackled and the Announcer's stern voice echoed throughout the huge building. "Would all participants of the Working Group line up please. All participants of the Working Group please line up."  
Hannibal sighed and glanced at his fancy watch. "Well, I fear my time is up. I hope to see you after the show, Will Graham. Maybe we could discuss some things in more detail?"  
Will nodded and Hannibal left. He wondered if the man had a dog in the show or if he was just watching. He hoped it was the later, he didn't like dog breeders on principle. Anyone who brought new dogs in a world where there were dogs still suffering in the streets and being euthanised in pounds without the love of a family was doing wrong, regardless of how humane their kennels were. They may be able to control who the puppies went to, but what about those puppies' puppies? After generations, there would be so much pain caused by the simple act of breeding a dog. Will had sat by enough abused and dying dogs to know this was a true statement.  
Time ticked on and people passed him by, most not even sparing a glance. A few stopped and petted Winston and some other dogs, but no one was interested in adopting. Will was beginning to think the whole thing had been a waste of time when a young girl came up with her mother in tow. She had a scarf around her neck and an intricately patterned skirt.  
"Mom said I could choose a dog to take home," the girl said, a wide grin on her face, "I think this one's the prettiest, can I adopt him?"  
She was pointing towards Winston and Will felt a rush of relief flood through him. Winston had been his foster dog for two whole years and finally someone was interested. He dug through his box for the file and rummaged through his bag for the adoption papers.  
"What's your name?" He asked while he organised the papers.  
"Abigail Hobbs, and this is my step-mom, Alana."  
"Nice to meet you." The step-mom said as he handed her a pen, "Now, what all does this adoption fee cover?"  
Will started his rehearsed spiel as the Announcer came back over the speaker.  
"First in the Working Group is the Great Pyrenees, Mylimasis. Handler, Hannibal Lecter."  
Will groaned internally and turned his head towards the arena halfway through his sentence where he could only just see the man trotting around the circle with the most ridiculous, blow-dried dog Will had ever seen. He supposed the dog could seem majestic to some, but it honestly just looked slightly goofy to him.  
"Thank you so much!"  
He turned his attention back to Abigail as her step-mom signed the last line. "You're welcome. Winston's all yours!"  
Abigail squealed as another woman came in with a leash and collar.  
"My other mom," Abigail explained, then she leaned forward and whispered to Will, "She hates dogs, but Alana convinced her to let me have one. Perks of having a cool step-mom."  
Will smiled and waved goodbye to them as they led Winston out of the building. He could feel a stinging at the corner of his eyes, but refused to cry. After two years, he had become attached to Winston in a way he had never been attached to a dog before. He had thought about adopting him, but simply didn't have the money to cover the adoption, vet, and care bills. At least he was going to a good home with someone who would spoil him and give him lots of love.  
He was about to start watching the Working Group again when his phone rang. Darla's name flashed on the Caller ID and he rolled his eyes before answering it.  
"Yes?"  
A shaking voice came over the speaker, "Will, I need you back at the shelter. Now."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter two! Thank you for all of the wonderful comments (which I will answer soon) and kudos, they really make my day! Just a quick side note, Darla is based off of two people I know in real life who treat me the exact same way as she treats Will.

After forty-five agonizing minutes of waiting for a single foster to show up, Will hauled ass to the little shelter on the outskirts of Baltimore. The worn tires of his old Corolla screeched on fresh pavement as he swerved into the driveway, a rooster tail in his wake. Parked in his usual space was the patrol car of an SPCA officer, a large, white SUV with the nonprofit's logo and number on it. The presence of that car meant something big was up, it was rare that the larger organization brought in the smaller shelters.  
He quickly stepped out of his dented car and opened the screen door to be met with a cacophony of barking. He could see Darla and another person standing at the other end of the rectangular building, but between him and them was a minefield of overstimulation. Dogs of all shapes and sizes ran up and down their kennels, jumping on the chainlink fences and yapping their heads off, tails beating like drums against the walls. However, this was a minefield he walked nearly every day. He knew how to get through it with the least amount of damage.   
Closing his eyes tightly, he began to walk. He focused his ears on the sound of Buster's lower-pitched woof, making that one noise his focal point. If he could successfully place his entire attention on it, the other, much louder, sounds would fade away.   
When he felt a dip in the concrete, he opened his eyes to see that he had managed to get through the rows of hyper dogs. His shoulders slumped in relief and he plastered a smile on his face as he approached Darla and the man she was talking to. Neither had seen him come in they were so immersed in their conversation, but his foot hit a stray, squeaky dog toy and they turned at the sudden noise.   
"Will!" Darla smiled widely, all worry gone from her voice, "Just the man we were waiting for!"   
His eye twitched and anxiety set in. Why had they been waiting for him? Why had she been so upset on the phone? Who was this man?  
He didn't have time to ask as the SPCA officer greeted him with a firm handshake, "Jack Crawford, vice-president of the Baltimore SPCA. Darla didn't tell you much so I assume you don't know what's going on?"  
Will shook his head, "No clue."  
Jack looked solemn, "It's nasty business, really. Not something I would usually call a civilian in on, but I heard you have a degree in law enforcement?"   
Will grimaced, "Not quite. I wasn't...stable enough to finish the course."  
"Then you have some experience?"  
"A little."  
Jack sighed and shrugged his sturdy shoulders, "We'll have to make do. They know the faces of the SPCA, we need someone with less...exposure."  
Will frowned and shifted his feet nervously, "What exactly are you asking of me?"  
Jack reached for a file sitting on the nearby cabinet full of dog toys. Paperclipped to the front was a picture of a man with a strong jawline and dangerous eyes, a man Will felt like he recognized.  
"Who's that?" He asked.  
"Francis Dolarhyde. One count of assault that was dropped before it reached court and one count of animal abuse that he payed a hefty fine for." Jack replied, holding out the file for Will.  
Will took it and flipped it open, "What's he done now?"  
Jack's eyes met Darla's before he continued, "We suspect him of running an illegal dog-fighting ring in a warehouse he owns just outside of Baltimore. Problem is, we don't have any evidence whatsoever. No warrant either. We need someone to go undercover, but he's done his research on us. Knows our faces and-"  
"So you want me to go in." Will interrupted, "Get some evidence and bring it to you."  
Jack nodded, "Precisely. It's a dangerous job and I normally wouldn't ask it of someone like you, but we need to take him down. I suspect that this isn't the first time he's participated in a ring."   
Will felt a clenching in his gut. He hated dog fighting rings with a passion. He had been to one as a small boy, his father having brought him so he would 'toughen up a little'. He had been too small to see much, but the snarling and yelping had been horrific. In the end, his father had lifted him up just in time to see the winning dog tearing the throat out of the losing. Looking back on that memory, he wondered if that was why he had decided to dedicate his life to saving dogs.   
So much cruelty went into those rings. The majority of the dogs rescued from them had to be put down, too aggressive to adopt out. As he stared at the picture of Dolarhyde, he felt boiling hatred rise up in him.  
"I'll do it."  
Jack clapped his hands together, "Alright, now that that's settled, I have one more thing to tell you."  
"What's that?"   
"Darla here says you don't work well with others-don't blame her, I asked-but we need another person on the case. Someone who has had personal experience with Dolarhyde. We found a man who used to breed with him but stopped after the animal abuse charge. He said he'll be willing to assist with taking Dolarhyde down."  
Will frowned. He didn't necessarily like working with people, but he had always been civil with the other volunteers. Where had that statement come from?  
"Who is this person? A breeder?"  
Jack sighed again, "Yes. He's very reputable, though I know that doesn't mean much, and worked with us before on a different case. He used to be a psychologist so he's very good at reading people and should be able to work with your...disorder."  
Will refrained from rolling his eyes, "As long as he doesn't try to psychoanalyse me. No one likes me when I'm psychoanalyzed."  
Jack grinned, "I'll be sure to let him know. His name is Hannibal, by the way, Hannibal Lecter."  
Will felt a groan leave his lips. Darla shot him a nasty look, but he didn't care.  
"You know him?" Jack asked, looking back and forth between Darla and Will.  
"Met him today, actually. At the adoption event I had to leave." Will felt his voice getting more brusque, something that happened when he got annoyed.  
Jack didn't seem to notice, "Well, at least you two know each other. Hopefully, with his knowledge, we'll be able to play Dolarhyde into giving you something concrete. It was nice meeting you, Will. Darla. I'll call you with a time to meet at the SPCA with me and Dr. Lecter."  
Will nodded and Jack exited the loud shelter. The foster turned to Darla, anger still foremost in his mind, "I don't work well with others? When has that ever been the case?"  
Before Darla could open her mouth to defend herself, Will raised a hand to silence her, "You know what? I don't care. I just want to go home and get some sleep. Goodnight."  
With that he stormed out of the shelter, ignoring the ruckus from the dogs. He was so angry at her. Why did she have to treat him like that? It was like she didn't even think he was an equal anymore. He sighed and got into his car. It didn't matter, he could never change her mind no matter how many times he proved himself. She had changed how she saw him in her mind, there was no going back now.   
He turned the keys and tried to relax as the comforting hum of the engine started up.


End file.
